


The Ash of the Forge

by sinestrated



Series: Ballads [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22640287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinestrated/pseuds/sinestrated
Summary: A few months after rescuing Paz from the jungle, Din struggles to figure out where he stands with the other Mandalorian. Meanwhile, Paz’s daughter arrives at the Covert with some disturbing news.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Paz Vizla
Series: Ballads [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628653
Comments: 31
Kudos: 284





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my Din/Paz pre-slash romantic comedy, somehow set against a backdrop of angst, grief, and persecution. 
> 
> You'll want to read ["The Song of the Mountain"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22547428) first, otherwise you'll likely get lost.

Contrary to popular belief (“popular” really being just Greef and Cara, but who was counting), Din Djarin didn’t particularly  _ like _ bounty hunting.

Did it appeal to his warrior ethos? Yes. Did it pay well? Yes. Did it occasionally make him grin with near-maniacal glee as he chased down that fucking child trafficker in the Crest, watching with vicious satisfaction as their ship exploded into a million tiny, flaming pieces?

Also yes.

But despite the adrenaline rush and bloody fistfights, the thrill of the chase and the soothing hum of his ship as she carried him to a multitude of new worlds, bounty hunting didn’t make up Din’s world, not like it did for those Guild old-timers who jumped on every new bounty and spent their downtime at the cantina trading old war stories. To Din, bounty hunting was his way of providing for the Covert, of ensuring everyone was fed and well-cared for. It was a job, nothing else.

His life got its meaning from something else entirely.

The Arrkad System was still more than four hours away, even as the long, swirling white pins outside the window reassured him the Razor Crest was going as fast as she could. Din sighed and glanced over his shoulder. The co-pilot’s chair was empty, just as it had been for the past three months.

Which was plainly and completely Paz Vizsla’s fault.

Okay, so that encounter with the Malwikk traders had been close—really, terrifyingly close, if Din was being honest. So he really should be grateful that Paz had offered to start watching the child while Din was offworld. But now it meant he was alone once again every time he chased a bounty, and it made travel a whole lot easier and he knew they were in good hands with Paz but Issik’s  _ balls _ did Din miss his kid while he was away.

At least now, trafficker successfully disintegrated, he was finally on his way home. Paz’s last transmission had hinted that the child could be close to producing their first word; Din would chew his own arm off before he missed that.

As if on cue, the comms console to his left began a series of three-dot beeps. Din leaned forward to flick the message up.

A tiny cone of blue light shimmered to life above the console, accompanied by a sharp crackle. The image jerked, then admitted two young faces, one just beginning to sharpen into adolescent angles, the other chubby-cheeked and grinning wide. “Din _ ’baa! _ ” Lyrr squealed, and Din smiled.

Paz’s two kids looked about the same from when he’d left a week ago; in fact, he was pretty sure that smudge of dirt on Avi’s cheek was from when he’d been waving madly at the Crest as she rose away from Thalkikk. If it bothered the ten-year-old he didn’t show it, instead hugging his little sister to his chest as he whispered, far too loudly, “Shh! You have to keep it down, Lyrr’ _ ika _ ,  _ Buir _ doesn’t know we stole his comms unit!”

Din was actually fairly certain Paz left the little device out on purpose. In the five months they’d been living next to each other at the newly-formed Mandalorian Covert on Thalkikk, he’d learned that, beneath the fearsome warrior exterior, Paz was a total  _ grirr _ -jelly when it came to his kids. Din was one to talk, though; just last week, Paz had had to gently but firmly remind him that  _ no, your  _ ad _ doesn’t get to eat all the  _ ashellak _ they want just because they make those big eyes at you, you’re gonna have vomit all over your armor by the time the night’s over. _

Din had still managed to sneak them one while Paz’s back was turned. It wasn’t his fault the older Mandalorian made them so savory and delicious.

Back on the comms console, Lyrr was busy singing an old Mando’a nursery rhyme completely wrong and off-key. Avi, meanwhile, rambled through his latest updates about school and the crush he was most definitely not nursing on another boy in class, and Din watched these two young, glowing souls as they laughed and talked, and thought his heart might swell to bursting. Children were the future. And the future had never looked so bright.

Then, abruptly, a voice off-screen: “Oy! What’re you doing with my talker?”

Lyrr giggled and hopped off Avi’s lap while her brother shouted, “Sorry, Din _ ’baa _ , gotta go!” and hurried away. 

Paz’s voice followed them, not a trace of anger in it. “Wash that face of yours, Avi! Can’t have you looking such a mess for your  _ ori’vod! _ ” Then more crackling before the older Mandalorian entered the frame, shaking his head. “Sorry, Djarin. You know how it is.” The image shook, then moved downward to reveal a familiar diminutive, long-eared figure who cooed and waved. “Kid says hi,” Paz said, before flicking the unit quickly back up so Din could see him nod. “Safe travels.”

And the transmission ended.

Shaking his head, Din leaned back in the chair, grinning stupidly up at the instrument panels. Four more hours. Then he’d be home.

He didn’t even register the word Paz had used earlier, while telling Avi to clean up.

_ Ori’vod. _

Older sister.

#

The nice thing about living in a galaxy as big as theirs was that you could always find small pockets where people didn’t give a shit about politics. 

Too remote and strategically unimportant to attract either the Empire or the New Republic’s attention, the Arrkad System had survived the galactic war relatively untouched, a rare stroke of luck for Din and his people. Perhaps as a result of being continuously ignored by the powers that be, the people of Arrkad had developed something of a culture of not caring. Thus, folks ended up just sort of shrugging their shoulders and looking the other way when multiple Mandalorians started arriving in their city.

It was a refreshing change from the caution and secrecy of the sewers on Nevarro. The new Covert on Thalkikk was located in a series of adjacent residential buildings in the heart of the city, with an owner who cared more about whether the rent was paid than who paid it. Of course that didn’t mean they weren’t still careful. Walking back from the hangar where he’d parked the Crest, Din made sure to take a circuitous route, doubling back twice and laying three false trails before finally making his way to the Covert’s side entrance, concealed behind a pile of old rusted junk.

Within, the hallways were empty, the quarters spartan. Even so, he smiled as a couple of children ran past him in the hall, then nodded at two other Mandalorians conversing in low tones outside the infirmary. They weren’t many—nine adults, six little ones—but they were a tribe. Together, he and Paz had made their people a home.

The forge was quiet when he reached it, sharp flames smoldering a muted blue in the half-darkness. Din stepped forward and lowered to one knee. “ _ Ijaa’lor _ .”

A familiar Mandalorian walked out from behind the flames, horns on her helm glinting. “Din Djarin,” said the Armorer. “Welcome home.”

He hadn’t thought he’d see her again, not after she’d quietly instructed them to leave the sewers on Nevarro and vowed to protect their legacy alone. Yet, three days after he returned from the jungle with Paz, she’d come in on a pilfered Imperial transport, and with the tools in her hands and the authority in her voice she’d brought them together as a tribe and declared them a Covert.

That night, for the first time in a long time, Din had curled up in the privacy of his rack and cried until he couldn’t breathe. Mandalore was not a planet, or even a culture. It was the people who followed the Creed.

The Armorer tilted her head. “I trust the hunt was successful?”

Din nodded. “The one who stole children now rots in the Empty Hell.”

“Pleasing.” He could tell from the slight upward lilt of her voice that she was smiling. “You do your clan honor, Djarin, as you do for us all.”

“Thank you,  _ ijaa’lor _ .”

“Does your armor require repair?”

“No.” Din paused, the next words suddenly awkward in his mouth. “If...If there is no other pressing need, I would request the payment of beskar be used as previous.”

Brief silence. Din felt the Armorer’s heavy gaze on him and his face grew hot. She hadn’t objected the last time, hadn’t really expressed an opinion one way or the other, but...

“Very well.” She turned back to the forge. “Vizsla will be pleased. Have him report to me as soon as he has finished his preparations.”

Din blinked. “Preparations?”

The Armorer glanced back at him over her gleaming shoulder. Somehow, despite the helm and the flickering half-darkness of the flames, Din knew her eyes were laughing. “Ask the family,” she said. “They have news.”

#

If a dictionary definition of  _ controlled chaos _ existed, it would be the state of the Vizsla household when Din walked in minutes later.

The whole room smelled of meat and sharp spices. Lyrr, hair wet and wearing only her underwear, led Din’s bewildered-looking child in a looping, twirling waltz around the room, singing at the top of her lungs. Avi, meanwhile, glared at an ancient-looking datapad, seeming on the verge of tears as he hovered in the kitchenette next to Paz, who stirred a huge pot on the stove that was currently belching thick, pungent smoke.

“This is  _ impossible! _ ” Avi cried—wailed, really, casting the datapad to the floor. “I’ll never get it right, and she’ll think I’m an idiot because I  _ said _ I had it memorized during our last comm and—”

“You’ll get it,” Paz answered, steady as always as he turned to nod at Din. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks.” The child saw him and instantly pulled away from Lyrr with a happy gurgle, so Din bent down to pick them up. “Uh. Why are you making enough  _ pirpaak’nar  _ to feed a small army?”

Paz just shrugged. “My daughter likes to eat,” he said, before turning to Avi. “Come on, sweet, from the top. You can do it.”

Avi sighed, picked up the pad, and held it to his chest. “Seventh Soliloquy of Karash Mirwai,” he said, pointed, angry, each word like a stab. “ _ Hark! What tender beings we strive to be within the trappings of this blessed shield. Forsaken of the ancestors, do we draw our charts anew? Or is history a wretched mistress, who even in the realm of dreamless sleep will fly on midnight wings to—to tell the—will fly and— _ Lothir’s tits!”

“Language,” Paz said, tipping another half-jar of Brithuu pepper into the pot.

Din shook his head. “Call me crazy, but it looks like your son is trying to memorize an excerpt from an obscure Old Mandalore play.”

“Vizslas don’t make promises they can’t keep,” Paz answered, like that explained anything. Din snorted.

“Right.” He glanced over at Lyrr, who was now amusing herself picking the lint out of her bellybutton. “And how, exactly, is your daughter supposed to finish a whole pot of stew by herself?”

“Hm?” Paz turned, then chuckled. “Oh, no, not that daughter. My grown daughter.”

Then, apparently unaware of Din’s surprised gape, the older Mandalorian reached out to ruffle Avi’s hair. “Go take a break and rest your eyes, then try again,” he said. “You’ve got time; she doesn’t get here until nightfall.”

The ten-year-old huffed, entire body exuding frustration and impotent rage. “But I have to get it  _ now! _ ”

“You definitely won’t while you’re like this,” Paz answered. “So leave the pad. Go.”

“But—”

“ _ Now _ , Avi Vizsla.”

The boy pouted and stomped off. Lyrr followed him, still singing softly, and Paz sighed as he turned off the burner. “He’s gonna be absolute hell when puberty hits.”

“You have another  _ daughter? _ ”

It came out maybe a little more forceful than Din intended, if the soft squeak from the child in his arms was any indication. Paz, for his part, just cocked his head. “Yeah. You didn’t know?”

“ _ No. _ ” And yes, Din knew he was being a little dramatic, but he couldn’t help the indignation and vague sense of betrayal bubbling in his gut. He and Paz had been living next to each other for half a year, sharing meals and childcare and spars and the occasional complicated bounty, and the older Mandalorian hadn’t thought to mention he had more kids?

“Oh. Guess it slipped my mind.” Paz turned to face him, leaning back against the stove. “I was married before. We had two children, Vena and Jied. My husband was a hell of a fighter, but he somehow got in his head that since he was a poet and I was heavy infantry, that I’d be the one best suited to protect our kids during the Purge. So during one of the battles he stayed behind to cover our retreat. My brother-in-law Kolyk, he begged Kian to come with us but he refused, so in the end Kolyk stayed with him. And then the Imps came and...yeah.” 

His voice cracked, and he coughed into his fist. “Anyway, after that I raised the two of them on my own, until Vena came of age and chose to leave the Way. He went into politics, thought that was the best way to better the world, and just happened to be on Alderaan on a very, very bad day.”

“ _ Jen’Issik _ ,” Din swore quietly.

Paz nodded. “Yeah. So it’s just Jied now. She swore the Creed a few years ago and went off to go, I dunno, break some heads around the galaxy or whatever, but she’s been hitching rides over to this system ever since she heard what happened on Nevarro. She’s due to make planetfall in a few hours.”

“I see.” Din swallowed. “I’m sorry, Paz, I didn’t mean to make you—”

“It’s all right.” Paz let out a breath, slightly shaky. “We remember them through telling. This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

By mutual agreement they let the silence hang for a few moments, respectful, before Paz cleared his throat and turned back to the pot of stew. “So are you gonna interrogate me about my kids all day, or did you actually need me for something?”

“Oh. Right.” Din straightened up. “You’re, uh. Summoned to the forge.”

Paz stopped moving.

If he hadn’t been a grown ass adult covered in impenetrable armor and wearing about a dozen weapons on his person, Din might have shifted foot to foot like an embarrassed teenager. When Paz spoke, he could almost see his narrowed eyes. “Djarin. We talked about this.”

“I know.” Din nodded down at Paz’s right vambrace, glinting bright in the overhead light. Fresh beskar, from his last bounty. “But I want you to have it, and the Armorer agrees—”

“You need to keep up your own armor,” Paz growled, indicating Din’s right greave, still worn durasteel. “You’re the one going out there getting shot at, risking your life—”

“You came with me last month—”

“That was because it was for a whole goddamned  _ gang! _ ” Paz stepped back, taking a deep breath. “You owe me nothing, Din, except perhaps a vow to always return safely.”

The child cooed in Din’s arms, reaching a clawed hand out toward Paz. Din sighed. “They adore you,” he said, soft. “You take care of them so well, and you’ve saved my life twice—three times if you count that Vrungee sniper—and I. Just.” He fumbled for the words, odd and unused. “I want to...to give you something. For being...important. To me.”

Paz didn’t answer immediately. Din tried hard not to squirm under the weight of that heavy, helmeted gaze. He didn’t know exactly what this feeling was when it came to the other Mandalorian—respect, definitely, and a sort of admiration, but there was something deeper there that he couldn’t parse no matter how hard he tried. He just knew it gave him a surge of pride and unexpected pleasure to see Paz walking around with the beskar Din had earned, so he would continue using his bounties in this way, so long as the Armorer permitted it.

At last, Paz sighed. “Fine,” he said, gruff, but Din clearly heard the smile beneath, and he couldn’t help but grin back as the older Mandalorian jabbed his thumb at the still-steaming pot. “You hungry?”

#

By the time Arrkad’s sun touched the horizon, the entire Covert was buzzing with excitement. Though well-sheltered and decently supplied, they were still few. The arrival of another Mandalorian was big news.

They were gathered in the forge, conversing quietly amongst themselves, when she walked in. Din’s first thought was that Jied Vizsla surely couldn’t finish off even a bowl of stew, much less a whole pot: she was skinny as a droid, with a ragged maroon cape and a long, thin electropole strapped across her back. Next to him, wearing a new beskar cuisse that made Din smile every time it gleamed, Paz drew a sharp breath but didn’t advance. They all knew how this worked.

Bootsteps echoing in the broad space, Jied approached the forge, where the Armorer sat cross-legged in her usual position. Unhooking the electropole and setting it carefully on the ground, she took a respectful seat and bowed her head. “ _ Ijaa’lor _ . I have journeyed.”

“Jied Vizsla. You have arrived.” The Armorer tilted her helm. “I regretfully admit that we’ve not had the chance to meet.”

“It is my embarrassment,” Jied answered. “I’ve spent much of the past few years in the Outland Territories, cleaning out the rotten remnants of the Empire.”

“And have you killed many?”

“Not enough, I’d say,” Jied replied darkly, sparking murmurs of assent throughout the room, which their leader silenced with a raised palm.

“You do your clan honor, as you do for us all.”

“I am only as my father raised me.”

“Indeed.” The Armorer rose then, and offered a hand. Jied took it as their leader nodded. “Jied Vizsla. Welcome to the Covert.”

And it was done. The Armorer laid a hand on Jied’s shoulder before retreating. The other Mandalorians dispersed, chatting in low voices. And Paz, taking a moment to flick a bit of dust off his vambrace, stepped forward into the light. “Hello, sweet,” he said, voice full to bursting with warmth and pride.

“ _ Buir _ ,” Jied cried around a choked laugh, and hurled herself at him. 

Din watched, smiling as Paz squeezed his daughter close, whispering something too low for him to hear. Whatever it was made Jied laugh again, drawing back to smack his pauldron before turning and opening her arms for the two excited, fidgeting children hovering a few feet away.

“ _ Ori’vod! _ ” 

Lyrr and Avi piled in. Jied bowled backwards with a squeal while Paz chuckled. As the two foundlings peppered their sister with questions and stories and, in Lyrr’s case, requests for presents, Din shook his head, glancing down at his child tucked sleepily into the crook of his arm.

“Well, that’s your excitement for the day,” he murmured, straightening the swaddle. “Let’s head back and—”

“Din.”

He paused, then turned. Paz was watching him, as was Jied, with Avi and Lyrr still in her arms. Then, slowly, deliberately, Paz turned to his eldest daughter. “Jied. This is Din Djarin.”

Silence.

Din blinked, mind completely blank. Had Paz just...but no, that couldn’t be. Direct introductions like this were only meant for family or very close friends, and from Jied’s steady stare, she was just as confused as he was. Why in the world would  _ Paz _ want to...

And then Paz cleared his throat and not-so-subtly nudged Jied with his boot. “Daughter,” he prompted, and Jied straightened up.

“Right.” Setting the children down, she strode over and offered a hand. “Jied Vizsla. I...am pleased to know your name.”

“As am I,” Din answered, a little dazed, as he clasped her hand and shook it.

Neither of them seemed to know what to say next. Thankfully Avi saved the day, hurrying forward to tug at his sister’s sleeve. “I can do it, by the way!” he cried, practically vibrating with pride. “I can recite the whole soliloquy!”

Jied looked down at him, plain confusion in her voice. “What soliloquy?”

#

It took half an hour to get Avi to stop crying. Even then, Jied had to bribe him with an Orvvaji tactical manual she’d somehow managed to swipe from the depths of the Floating Archives. Din felt it best not to ask.

With the children preoccupied with their gifts, Din, Paz, and Jied knelt together in the forge, blue flames reflecting off their polished beskar helms as the Armorer faced them and said, “Please provide specifics.”

Jied dipped her head. “ _ Ijaa’lor _ . It’s true I came here to reunite with my clan and integrate with the Covert, but on the way I heard some news I found deeply disturbing.” Drawing a holochip from her pocket, she set it on the ground and turned it on. A face immediately resolved in the air between them: human, middle-aged, with a receding hairline, a meticulously-groomed goatee, and that deep-set, endlessly dissatisfied look common to arrogant aristocrats the galaxy over.

“Puerri Noss,” Jied said, “owner of Noss Mining in the Clee-Banam System. During the galactic war, he grew fat selling ore and other raw materials to fuel the Empire’s weapons. He was acquitted by a New Republic tribunal, however, since Noss Mining is a private enterprise.”

Paz rumbled disapproval. The Armorer, however, merely cocked her head. “But this is not why you bring him to our attention.”

“No.” Jied turned the holochip off. “Using the profits he made, Noss bought himself a nice luxurious estate on Jagriin, a small moon not far from here. He employs a large private security force to guard the property which, allegedly, draws mostly from the ranks of former Imps. Which I would have gone to take care of myself,” she said, glancing at her father, “except I heard another interesting rumor.”

“Go on.”

Jied took a deep breath. “It’s said that Noss’s private guards are equipped with shields and armor made of a metal that can deflect blaster fire.”

Silence.

Next to Din, Paz stopped breathing. Din himself looked down at his hands, clenched into shaking fists in his lap. No. This couldn’t be. Surely after those Imperial bastards had already committed their theft, surely there could not be another atrocity, another blatant perversion of their culture’s greatest creation.

“Intriguing.” The Armorer, as ever, remained entirely unmoved, an unshakeable foundation Din found himself desperately grateful for as she nodded at Jied. “It is theoretically possible. Noss clearly has access to the ore and other base elements. He would only require information and tenacity to shape it into beskar.”

“We.” Paz’s voice was barely-leashed rage, words spat through gritted teeth. “We must go. If there’s even a chance that this—this  _ turdfucker _ has—”

“Yes, thank you, Vizsla,” the Armorer said, and Din might have laughed at the clear  _ settle-down-drama-queen _ of her tone if he wasn’t so busy being equally, all-consumingly  _ pissed. _ “I agree that this is, at the very least, concerning. Jied, do you have transport to Jagriin?”

Paz’s daughter nodded. “I came here on a small cargo ship. Standard model, won’t stand out.”

“Very good.” The Armorer rose to her feet; they immediately moved to follow. “You will go to Jagriin. Recon the area, and if the rumors are true, do what you must.” She looked at each of them in turn. “Our ancestors did not create beskar only to have it bastardized by heathen hands. We will reclaim our legacy. This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

#

Jagriin, Din thought, would have been a perfect paradise if not for the cancerous eyesore of its single slimy resident.

The moon, situated six planets away from the system’s giant red sun, was a haven of deep purple grasslands that chased the horizon, miles-wide lakes attracting all sorts of wildlife, and a flaring, deep-orange sky that mimicked sunset the whole day. Crouched on a grassy knoll next to a forest of tinkling blue trees, soft breeze ruffling his cape and songbirds chirping in the distance, Din could totally understand why Puerri Noss had chosen to live here.

And if all went well, the bastard was going to die here too.

From what he could tell, Noss had a  _ lot _ of money and wasn’t afraid to show it. The giant, palace-like estate that sprawled out in the valley below was almost ridiculous in its opulence, all gilded doors and wall-to-wall windows and what looked like a private garden with some truly rare exotic plants. Of the man himself Din hadn’t caught a glimpse, but he was clearly around: the solemn-looking guards marching their sentry paths back and forth about the property, armor gleaming behind teardrop-shaped shields, was more than proof of that.

They couldn’t tell from this distance if the armor was beskar. It definitely shone the same bright silver under the orange sky, but that meant little. Their only option would be to test it outright, preferably at point-blank range.

“What’s your rate?”

He blinked and turned to the other Mandalorian laid out on the grass next to him, magnifier pressed to her visor. For this trip Jied had swapped her electropole out for a stubbier phaser spear; she’d need it if Noss’s guards truly wore beskar. 

Din hummed. “Light infantry. You?”

“Scout.” 

He nodded. “Infiltration points?”

“Three that I can see: first floor, east window; poolhouse gate—who the hell builds a pool with a lake fucking twenty meters away—and ventilation shaft, northwest roof. We’ll see if  _ Buir _ spots any others from his side.”

“Good.” Paz was doing recon on the other end of the property. Din had initially balked at letting him do anything that subtle, but Jied had hinted that her father needed some space, especially after he’d spent the entire journey here basically trying to melt their transport’s hull with his glare. 

_ You have to understand, _ she’d whispered to Din,  _ My  _ buir’shin _ —my kinfather—and my uncle, and my brother and most of the rest of our clan were all killed by the Imps. He will always remember this with rage. _

Recalling a brutal knife fight back in the sewers of Nevarro, Din felt it best not to push.

“So my father tells me the beskar he wears is from you,” Jied said, apropos of nothing. 

“Not all of it.” Paz’s helm, for instance, and his cuirass were both passed down from an ancestor, so he’d told Din during some downtime on that joint bounty.

“Mmhm.” The younger Mandalorian tucked away her magnifier and shifted around a bit to get comfortable. “Still, it’s quite a...significant gift.”

“He saved my life multiple times.”

“I understand.” Jied cocked her head at him. “You also seem quite comfortable with Avi and Lyrr. And your child...it seems you’ve no problem entrusting them to  _ Buir _ ’s care.”

“He knows a hell of a lot more about childrearing than I do, trust me.”

”...True.” Jied drew the word out perhaps a little longer than strictly necessary. Din glanced over to see her picking at the hem of her gloves, almost like she was...nervous?

“What?”

“Nothing.” At Din’s level look, she sighed. “Okay, okay. Just...poetry, I guess.”

“Poetry?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged, trying and clearly failing to sound casual. “My kinfather, he first caught  _ Buir _ ’s attention by reciting the Eighteen Elegies of the Circling Hawks by heart. And of course I’m not saying you need to go and memorize them, that’s like,  _ insane _ , but, um. You know. Learn at least a couple of poems and it’ll help you with your, uh. Objective.”

Din stared, face growing hot under his helm. Did Jied think...was she implying... “I’m not—”

“Of course that’s just one option!” Jied was speaking faster now, voice rising in pitch. “He’s not, like,  _ all  _ about literature, right? And poetry might remind him too much of  _ Buir’shin _ , now that I think about it, so you could also talk to him about weaponry or gift him a new vibroblade or—”

“I’m not  _ courting _ your father!”

The silence that fell was equal parts awkward and horrified. A flock of bird-like creatures took off from the forest, screeching in a way that almost sounded offended. Din had never been more grateful for the helm he wore; if his face got any hotter it would probably melt. 

He didn’t...he wasn’t  _ attracted _ to Paz. He respected him, absolutely, and appreciated his endlessly patient advice whenever Din came up against yet another parenting challenge, but that’s all it was: regard and gratitude. He considered Paz a comrade, maybe even a friend and sort-of mentor, but nothing more. So what if he sometimes caught himself on long, lonely trips in space absently wondering what Paz was doing? So what if hearing the older Mandalorian laugh,  _ really _ laugh, made his heart pound and his stomach flutter? Indigestion was a thing.

And then, in the midst of the roiling confusion, Jied actually had the audacity to straighten up and demand, with complete indignation, “Why not?”

Din gaped. Jied, for her part, leaned forward and jabbed her finger against his chestplate. “You’re a great bounty hunter, and beloved by the tribe. You honor the Way and are loyal to the Creed. And  _ Buir _ , he’s a great shot and a fantastic cook, and I know he’s got a rancor’s temper and he never spells ‘artillery’ right but he’s lost so much and he’s still so strong and my father is a fucking  _ catch _ , Djarin!”

There weren’t many things that could render a Mandalorian speechless. This, apparently, was one of them, as Din stared at Jied and tried and failed to come up with a reply. How...what was he even supposed to say to that? He knew Paz had a lot of great qualities, things that would make him a fine partner. Had already made him a fine partner, in fact, seeing as he’d been married before. But that certainly didn’t mean  _ Din _ was...

The commtac in their helms abruptly crackled. “Recon alpha to recon bravo,” Paz said.

“ _ What? _ ” Jied snapped.

A brief pause over the line. Din could almost see it: Paz crouched on the other side of the property, blinking slowly as he wondered why his daughter sounded like she wanted to murder someone. Apparently he knew to pick his battles, though, because he just said, “Rendezvous at my location. I’ve got one of the guards here, and you’re not gonna like what I found.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jied huffed as soon as they sighted Paz, standing behind a copse of trees with a limp armored figure at his feet. “Did you kill him?”

“No, he was like this when I got here,” Paz deadpanned, earning a light smack as Jied knelt down next to the body and ran a thumb over the thin backplate. 

“Shit,” she hissed, which was all the confirmation Din needed.

“Fucking bastard,” Paz agreed, “but at least it doesn’t look like Noss is just pumping it out.” This was true. The guard’s armor was beskar, yes, but it was thin, so much so as to be almost useless. The shield, also, was a lot smaller up close: barely a third the length of his body, with a beskar plate over a standard durasteel base. Long story short, it was a getup no self-respecting Mandalorian would be caught dead in.

Din snarled, wishing he could spit on the ground. “Looks like Noss just wants to brag that he has beskar,” he said, “but he doesn’t know the first thing about using it.” The rich asshole was treating their sacred alloy as a commodity to broadcast status, like those desperate socialites who claimed their enormous engagement rings were made entirely of meltdiamond when they barely contained a drop.

Paz grunted and kicked the guard’s body—notably in a spot that wasn’t armored. “The sentry routes overlap pretty well on this side of the compound,” he said. “No entry points from what I can see. You?”

“We’ve got a couple options,” Jied said. “I can come in from the top, meet you on the first floor.”

“Sounds good. And Jied?” The young Mandalorian paused, turning to her father. “Lay a contingency,” Paz said, and Din could swear Jied grinned.

“Yes,  _ Buir. _ ”

Then she was off, keeping low to the grass as she darted down toward the house. Paz, for his part, just slung his heavy rifle over his shoulder and nodded at Din. “Shall we?”

Infiltrating the house was remarkably—and unsurprisingly—easy. The thing about Imps was that they were all trained the same: to look and aim only in one direction at a time, because the dozen other Storm Troopers in your squad would always cover the other angles. That all changed, though, when those Troopers were no longer there, which resulted in a whole lot of blind spots that even someone as large as Paz could fit through.

They went full stealth as soon as they cleared the outer sentries. Din took point, clearing their advance before signaling Paz to follow as they worked their way carefully toward the foyer. They moved as they had during that last joint bounty, as they always did whenever they were together: quiet, efficient, perfectly in sync. It scared Din a little, how in tune he was with Paz, how he could almost sense the older Mandalorian’s location, how he didn’t even really have to look to know how Paz would move. They made a hell of a team both on duty and off, and maybe Jied had been on to something when she—

No. He wasn’t thinking about that.

“Hey!”

The gruff voice came out of nowhere. A strong hand seized Din’s shoulder and hauled him back into cover; he nodded at Paz, taking a breath to calm his pounding heart. That had been too close.

At the entrance to the foyer, a guard strode up to his two compatriots. “What’re you still doing here?” he demanded. “Boss wants to see those new shields yesterday.”

One of the other guards, bald with a set of what looked like burn scars down half his scalp, just shrugged. “Crazy guy said forge is closed.”

“He did that creepy cackle too,” his companion added. His shield had a large crack across it.

The first guard merely shook his head. “The forge is never closed,” he said, “and Noss is gonna have my balls if I don’t get him those shields, stat. You know how he is.”

Long-suffering murmurs of assent as Burn Scars and Cracked Shield dutifully began making their way toward a side exit. Din turned to Paz. “The forge. You think that’s where he keeps all the beskar?”

“Seems as good a place as any,” Paz answered. “Come on.”

Tailing the guards was a simple matter of keeping to the shadows as they journeyed down to the building’s basement level. Here the opulence ended: the tunnel they walked down was cold concrete, musty and dank, and the guards’ voices echoed eerily in the half-darkness.

“Think he’s still there?”

“He’s always there.”

“Shit, man, you think he even eats? Or sleeps?”

“Hell if I know. Their kind probably sleep standin’ up in that armor. Probably shit straight into it too.” A thick metal door rose out of the darkness, cracks underneath glowing with hot firelight. Burn Scars marched up and hammered the door with his fist. “Oy, freakshow! We’re comin’ in, so stop humping that beskar!”

The door hissed and slowly began to open. Din looked at Paz, who nodded, and they were off.

He darted down the hall toward Cracked Shield, drawing his vibroblade mid-leap. The guard grunted on impact, tried to turn, but Din had already hooked his leg across the man’s hips, using the momentum to slam him to the ground. One quick slash and Cracked Shield went limp. 

He glanced over just in time to see Paz grab Burn Scars in a headlock and snap him sideways.  _ Crikk! _ And it was done.

Before they had a chance to plan their next move, the room beyond hit them like a punch. 

Din shook his head, fighting the urge to gag. If there was an exact opposite of the Armorer’s quiet, efficient forge back home, this would be it: the space was huge, easily the size of several living units, with three giant stone hearths in the center, sparking and spewing thick black smoke. The fires here were a hot, messy orange, nothing like the sharp ice-blue Din was used to, and the air itself was heated to the point of searing, a blast of fire and ash that suffused his helm in an instant, making him sweat, making him want to tear it off and gasp for breath before he suffocated.

Paz seemed to be having the same trouble, staggering back and throwing a hand up as he coughed. “Shit, what the hell—”

“Welcome.”

The voice shivered out of the dark like a nightviper, and everything inside Din stuttered to a stop. No. It couldn’t be. He had to be hearing things, the smoke and heat were playing tricks on his mind because surely that voice wasn’t...surely he was just imagining the slight echo, the modulation...

A small, hunched figure slowly rounded one of the hearths. Firelight glinted off beskar, and Din dropped his vibroblade.

The man—the  _ Mandalorian _ was a ruined mess. If he’d been standing straight he’d probably be about Din’s height, but instead his left shoulder hunched inward, the arm nothing but a shriveled husk. A rusted metal prosthetic replaced one leg, creaking as he moved, and though the beskar of his armor gleamed beautifully in the light, the clothes underneath were ragged and torn, showing patches of skin covered in old scars. His helm, too, was awfully damaged: warped on one side, with a cracked crater in the visor that revealed one bright, bloodshot eye, glinting with something that immediately sent little worms of anxiety squirming through Din’s gut. That eye had seen things, terrible things carved onto the scarred, broken body, things of the darkest nightmares, things that would break a man.

How long had this Mandalorian been here, perverting their culture for Noss’s profit? What awfulness lay behind that empty dead eye?

“I’ve been waiting a long time.” The strange Mandalorian laid a hand on the edge of the hearth, seemingly uncaring of his gloves hissing with the heat. “It’s been so lonely down here with the beskar, you see.”

Din swallowed. “Who are you?”

“Hmm, hmm, no,” the stranger replied. “I shouldn’t have to introduce myself, oh no.” The eye swiveled sideways then, fixing on Paz. “And certainly not to  _ you. _ ”

And every alarm bell in Din’s head went off.

In the five months they’d been living on Thalkikk, Din had seen Paz in all sorts of states: content, bored, amused, excited, really fucking furious. Like all Mandalorians you could read it in his body language: the way he stood, what he did with his hands, the angle of his shoulders and his helm. And right now, staring at the stiff line of Paz’s spine, the way his hands shook, the absolute stillness of his shoulders, Din could immediately tell.  


Paz Vizsla was  _ terrified. _

And then the strange Mandalorian purred, “Won’t you say hi to your brother, Paz?” And Din knew they were royally, totally  _ fucked. _

“K-Kolyk.” The name burst from Paz like a gunshot, broken, jagged. Din’s heart tightened on reflex and he almost reached out, except then the stranger— _ Kolyk _ , Paz’s long ago brother-in-law—threw his head back and laughed.

“He remembers!” Kolyk crowed, then turned to the empty air next to him. “Do you see that, dear little brother? Your husband hasn’t forgotten me. And you said he would! We made a bet!”

Issik help them. “Listen,” Din said, “I don’t know what you’re doing here or what Noss is paying you but we’re here to help, we can—”

“ _ Help? _ ” Kolyk spat the word like it was poison. “This one wants to help! And who might you be, hm? Paz’s new little bedwarmer? The latest toy he’ll toss aside the instant the Imps show up?”

“That’s  _ not _ —” Paz stuttered, words thick and clumsy like they wouldn’t fit his mouth. “I didn’t—Kian wasn’t—”

“You do  _ not _ say his name!” Kolyk’s entire body trembled, eye jerking crazily back and forth, opened so wide Din could see the whites all around. “He was  _ my  _ brother!  _ My _ family!” He spun on Din. “Do you know what happened? Do you?” A high-pitched, maniacal giggle. “The Troopers were coming, marching down that tunnel,  _ boom-boom _ of their boots, oh yes. And then this  _ traitor _ , he takes the children and he runs! He leaves me and my brother, just abandons us to our deaths, but I won’t let that happen to my dearest Kian, oh no. Oh, no no  _ no _ . So when the Troopers get here,  _ I  _ make sure they can’t hurt him.  _ I _ do what his cowardly husband did not.” 

At that, Paz moaned. The sound shivered out of him like he couldn’t help it, small and dying. “You didn’t,” he whispered. “Kolyk, you  _ didn’t. _ ”

A low laugh, broken and terrible inside that mutilated helm. “Did you know he barely even twitched when I slid my vibroblade up into his brainstem? Oh, my lovely Kian, brave to the last. But I didn’t get to finish it for myself.” Kolyk sighed, as if the whole thing was just a tiresome chore. “They got to me first. They took me places, did things to me. Oh, the things, the things...yes, yes, I’m getting to that, Kian. I broke out, you see. They thought they could contain me but no, no they couldn’t, they could never. And now here we are, oh yes. Here we aaaare.”

Jen’Issik. Din looked at Paz, but the older Mandalorian had gone statue-still, everything about him broadcasting shock and grief. What must it be like, for someone you’d thought dead twenty years to suddenly show up, and like this? To witness a living memory of the worst day of your life, spitting venom and cutting deep with his lies? Because of course Paz hadn’t done anything Kolyk claimed; Din knew his heart, knew he would have died before abandoning his family. But did Paz believe that? Or had he spent two decades grieving his husband, blaming himself for a war he didn’t start, a death he didn’t cause?

Lothir have mercy, Din didn’t want to be here. Why had they listened to Jied? Why had they come chasing the beskar? The Armorer should’ve sent someone else, someone stronger. Maybe then Din could have protected Paz from this. Maybe then he wouldn’t be standing here, wanting nothing more than to grab Paz and bundle him back onto the ship and wrap himself around him, a barrier against the world.

Pity that the universe had long ago stopped giving him what he wanted.

“My, how touching.” The new voice was gravelly and much too smug. Din turned, heart sinking as fully two dozen guards marched into the forge, headed by a far-too-stereotypically-smirking Puerri Noss. The businessman nodded at Kolyk. “Seems you have some use after all.”

The guards surrounded them. The hearths spit and sizzled, acrid smoke stinging. Din looked to Paz—what did they do now?—but the older Mandalorian looked so heartbreakingly  _ lost _ , just standing there unresisting as the guards took his rifle. 

“I must admit I’m surprised we got a Mandalorian, much less two,” Noss continued, stepping easily over the bodies of the two guards Paz and Din had dispatched before. “I really thought Kolyk here was the last of you, but it seems even the Empire had problems with vermin extermination. Tell me, how are you liking my operation? Not perfect, I know, but the beskar gleams so beautifully, yes? Just like that of your ancestors.”

Din bared his teeth. How he’d love to shove his fist under Noss’s flabby jaw and activate his flamethrower, but the guards were standing too close for him to access his weapons. Kolyk, it seemed, had told Noss more than just how to forge beskar.

“Of course, once we perfect the process, I’ll start a whole trade,” Noss continued, with enough pompousness to put Moff Gideon to shame. “Can you imagine the profits? The money I’ll make selling beskar to the New Republic alone! Ah, but in order to get there, some sacrifices must be made, yes? For instance, the beskar you wear. So exquisite, so well made! Let’s have it off, yes?”

He gestured as if they were recalcitrant children being told to come eat dinner. One of the guards reached for Paz, who jerked back and growled, “You’ll have to kill me first.”

At that, Noss grinned. “That’s the idea,” he said. “I don’t understand it, really, your crazy obsession with keeping your armor on. With never, hm, what was it, letting ‘any living thing’ see your faces? How hideous are you under there?” 

He shrugged. “Well, guess we’ll never know. See, having Kolyk here has really made me respect your culture, backwards as it is. So you’re in luck, Big Blue. You’ll keep the armor on while we throw you into the forge. The heat’ll destroy all organic material anyway.”

Then he motioned again with his hand, and suddenly guards were seizing Paz and dragging him toward the nearest hearth as he swore and struggled. Din leaped forward. “Don’t you fucking—”

Sudden pain arced through him, searing down every nerve ending and he had just enough time to realize one of the guards had hit him with an electropole before his knees buckled and he slammed to the ground. Distantly he was aware of Paz shouting his name, of Noss laughing.

“Easy, Mando,” the businessman said. “You’ll have your turn.”

Standing next to him, Kolyk watched with keen interest as the guards hauled Paz up to the hearth, the blue of his armor washed a sickening pale gray by the firelight. “Say hello to Kian for me,” he said, and then laughed, thin and reedy. “Oh no, wait, you can’t! Because you’ll burn for eons in the Empty Hell!”

And then, as Din struggled to shake off the pain, to get up, to grab a weapon or a fucking rock or something to fight with because he couldn’t lose Paz like this,  _ not like this _ , Paz shook off his guards and turned to his crazed, mutilated brother-in-law and sighed, of all things.

“You’re right, Kolyk,” he said. “You were artists and I was the soldier, so I should’ve been the one to stay behind. It’s my fault Kian died.”

Din stared. Had he lost his fucking  _ mind? _ How could he think that? And why did he sound so utterly  _ defeated? _

“By rights my life is yours, in retribution for your brother’s,” Paz continued, quiet, “and I’d like to let you kill me, if it’ll bring you peace. But I can’t. Not today.” He let out a breath. “Not in front of my child.”

And quite a few things happened after that.

As Din gaped at Paz, horrified, the air between them suddenly shimmered and  _ dissolved _ , revealing a third Mandalorian: Jied. Who promptly jammed her phaser spear against the nearest guard’s head and blew it off.

Chaos. The guards shouted, drew their blasters and fired but Jied vanished, swallowed by the air like a cloak. Screams erupted as her spear found target after target. Paz, for his part, took inspiration from his daughter: one punch sent a guard tumbling headfirst into the hearth, shrieking, while he grabbed another’s blaster and began firing. 

The guards around Din panicked, scrambling for their weapons. Quickly Din shot to his feet, ignoring the burst of agony in his back as he tackled the nearest man, flipping him into the dirt before unleashing his flamethrower on the others. As they screamed and burned, he heard Paz shout, “Jied!”

Noss, who’d been running for the door, suddenly shrieked and fell, clutching the bloody stump of his leg. A shudder in the air next to him uncloaked Jied, armor unveiling itself bit by bit in a rolling wave Din recognized: Raven’s Shadow. Jied Vizsla, it seemed, was full of surprises.

With savage ruthlessness Jied aimed her spear downward and pulled the trigger. Noss went silent. “ _ Buir? _ ”

Paz slammed his fist into another guard’s face so hard teeth went flying. “Contingency,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

Jied slapped her palm down onto the control unit on her vambrace. And the world  _ moved. _

_ Boom. _ The earth beneath them shook, immense, angry, like some recently-awakened monster.  _ Boom, boom, boom: _ explosions all around, deep percussive thumps that echoed against Din’s ribcage like a second heartbeat.

And then the monster came alive.

The walls of the forge blasted inward. Metal and concrete went flying in chunks, slamming into the hearths, the bellows, the guards who screamed as they disintegrated. The earth lurched and Din stumbled but then Paz was there, strong hands hauling him up. “Djarin,  _ move! _ ”

He didn’t have to be told twice. Sprinting for the doors, Din tailed the bright blue of Paz and Jied as they booked it up the stairs three at a time, dodging falling rubble and collapsing concrete as the entire building came down around them.  _ Boom! _ roared the monster, as the ground trembled once more.  _ Boom! Boom! _ Din darted sideways, barely avoiding a falling concrete slab as big as a speeder. Issik’s balls, what the hell had Jied  _ done? _

They burst up into the main house. Immediately Din threw his hand up, coughing in the thick smoke as he struggled to see through the fires and the falling rubble. Was the whole fucking building coming down on them? How the hell were they supposed to get back to the ship when they couldn’t even get out of the fucking house?

“Hey!” A sudden grip on his wrist as Jied shoved her helm right up against his, yelling to be heard over the sounds of destruction. “I got us another way out, come on!”

“Shit!” Din ducked low and followed her toward a half-crumbled side exit, Paz bringing up the rear like a silent shadow. “The fuck did you do, blow up the building?”

“Standard Vizsla contingency,” she answered, like that made any fucking sense, but Din didn’t get to ask because then they came up against a giant set of double doors and Jied kicked them open and—

Well. About damned time.

You had to hand it to Noss: nothing said  _ evil rich asshole _ like your own private hangar stuffed full of ridiculously expensive spacecraft. Most of it wasn’t the least bit practical—a Z-710 sports racer, really?—but the one nearest the entrance was a standard cargo transport, scratched up yet sturdy, and it was its open ramp Jied hurried them towards.

“Think you’ll like what I found in the trunk too,” she said as Din scrambled up onto the ship and— _ holy shit. _

He stumbled to a stop, staring at the solid metal blocks stacked floor to ceiling in the cargo hold, all a uniform size and the exact same polished, steel-gray color. Beskar. Tons of it, the whole ship filled with it, more than Din had ever seen in his life.

They’d managed to seize Noss’s entire fucking supply of beskar, and Din couldn’t—this—the breath whooshed out of him and he wanted to laugh, to cry, to hug Jied and Paz and. Just. There was  _ so much.  _ Easily enough to outfit the entire Covert, to buy them a whole fleet of ships, to guarantee the bright, shining future of their children and their people.

Tears stung his eyes, unbidden. The universe, it seemed, had finally gotten something right.

“ _ Fuck me. _ ” Paz came up next to him, and Din didn’t have to look to know they shared identical dumbstruck looks as they stared at the treasure trove before them. This changed everything. It wouldn’t bring back those they had lost, or rewrite Mandalore’s terrible history of war and persecution, but with this they could finally set things to rights. They could grow, they could change. They could finally  _ live. _

Paz took a step forward, hesitant, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Issik be praised, do you think—”

_ Shhring! _

The blaster bolt came out of nowhere, a bright red flash that slammed Paz forward with a pained cry. Din moved without thinking, leaping forward to cover Paz as he fell, and not a moment too soon: two more shots smashed into his backplate with the force of a solid punch, knocking the breath from his lungs as his beskar sang.

Jied screamed something but Din didn’t dare move, lying atop Paz on the ramp. Beneath him the older Mandalorian groaned, a smoking wound in his shoulder where the bolt had seared through his durasteel pauldron. It looked like his only injury, though, and Din sent a quick prayer of thanks up to all the gods as he lifted himself up and turned toward their attacker.

What he saw made his heart sink into his stomach like a stone.

Limping out from the still-smoldering rubble of the building, Kolyk crumbled like the world around them: his prosthetic leg dragged on the ground, bent up and useless, and blistering burns covered his good arm, crooked fingers trembling as the blaster dropped to the ground. That single eye peering through the visor watched them through a sheen of blood, bright and terrible and forlorn.

“So here we are again,” he coughed out then, thick and blood-wet. “The world burns, and you, Paz Vizsla, are  _ running. _ ”

Paz flinched like he couldn’t help it. Din laid a hand on his arm, but it was Jied who spoke, shaky and tearful as she leveled her blaster at her uncle. “Stay back,  _ Ba’vodu _ . D-Don’t come any closer.”

“Oh, Jied’ _ ika _ .” Kolyk released a long sigh, as if he’d just finished an exhausting day. “One day you’ll learn. You’ll learn exactly what your father is.”

Jied swallowed; Din clearly saw her throat work beneath her helm. Yet when she spoke, her voice was solid with conviction. “I already know.”

Beneath them, the ship rumbled as it began an automated startup sequence. Kolyk tilted his head, single eye sliding over to Din—no. To the man he protected. “You’ll always be a sinner, Paz Vizsla,” he hissed. “And sinners don’t love. They only burn.”

Paz said nothing, but Din imagined every bit of hope and happiness leaking out of him all the same.

Slowly the ship rose up and away. Din tightened his grip on Paz’s arm, watching as they left the burning ruins of a once-bright family, now nothing but a pale column of smoke swallowed by the sky.

#

He should be celebrating.

To say the Covert was ecstatic would be like saying the Emperor had been just a little ambitious. Even now Din could hear the echoes of laughter and excited conversation drifting from the forge, where the Armorer and the other Mandalorians stood awestruck over the treasure they’d delivered from Jagriin. By this time tomorrow, everyone would be wearing beskar as they always should have, as they deserved. Din should be out there with the rest of his tribe, letting them slap him on the back and shake his hand and marvel at how this would save them all.

But he couldn’t rejoice. Not with the terrible, sorrowful silence coming from behind the door he now stood in front of.

Paz hadn’t said a word the entire trip back, slumped in the corner of the cargo hold like a ghost. Jied had been only marginally more responsive, staring listlessly out at the stars as Din piloted them toward Thalkikk. He hadn’t pushed. What could he say, anyway? What had happened to Kolyk, and to Kian before him...this was something he had no right to interfere in. It was Vizsla business, and he wasn’t family.

But holy shit did it hurt all the same.

It was why he was here now, despite the cold in his heart and the twisting in his gut. Paz wouldn’t want to see him, but Din knew a thing or two about grief, and leaving the other man to mourn alone was simply unacceptable. It didn’t matter where these feelings came from, whether Paz was simply a good friend or something more. Behind that door someone Din cared about was hurting, and he would die before he turned around and walked away from that.

Three heads turned when the door slid open. Jied sat at the table next to the kitchenette, Lyrr in her lap and Avi at her side, and when she saw Din she sighed, low and trembling. “Djarin. Now’s really not a good time.”

Din swallowed and nodded at the door to the sleeping alcove, tightly sealed and glaringly silent. “Did he get checked out at least?”

“Yeah. Doc said it’ll leave a scar but that’s it.”

Din hummed. Of course that was most definitely not it; Paz had come out of Jagriin with more than just a blaster wound. But Jied knew this, they all did. Saying it out loud wouldn’t make it better.

But maybe, just maybe, something else would.

Here went nothing.

He took two steps toward the door before Jied’s voice rang out. “Din.”

He turned, watching as she gently handed Lyrr over to her brother and advanced on him. She hadn’t cleaned her armor yet, Din noticed all of a sudden, beskar still tainted with ash and dust. Paz was going to be annoyed with her later.

Jied took a deep breath. “I don’t remember much of what happened the day  _ Buir’shin _ died,” she said then, speaking slowly, “but I remember enough. We were retreating through the tunnels. The Troopers were coming. And I’d never been so scared in my life.”

Her voice cracked, a splintering that lanced through Din’s own chest as she continued, shaky, “My brother Vena had been shot.  _ Buir _ had him in his arms but he was bleeding out, we could all see it. So when it became clear the Imps were going to catch up—I could hear them coming, that steady terrible marching, you know it, Din, we all do— _ Buir _ tried to hand him over to my kinfather. He told us to leave him, that he’d hold them off for as long as he could.”

A brief hitch in her breath, thick with tears. “But  _ Buir’shin _ refused. They fought, they yelled. I don’t remember what they said, I was just crying so hard and I was so scared for Vena, but then  _ Buir’shin _ drew his blaster and held it to his own head. He said...he said either he died protecting us and would wait for us in the Glowing Fields, or he’d force us to watch him die here.”

Oh, all the lords of darkness. Din stepped forward, involuntary. “Jied—”

“No.” She looked up at him, shoulders trembling. “You need to know,” she said, each word forced out like a wound. “You need to understand he didn’t have a choice. It was war and the Imps were coming for us and my brother was  _ dying _ . I remember  _ Buir’shin _ ’s last words. I will always remember. ‘Defend them, Paz,’ he said.” 

Din drew a thin breath at the flash of memory: fire, explosions, the darkness of the bunker. One blue-armored Mandalorian instructing her son.  _ Defend them, Paz. _

Jied suddenly stepped forward into his space, drawing up to her full height. “My father is an honorable warrior,” she said, harsh, uncompromising. “He would have stayed, fighting to his last breath to protect us, and I think  _ Buir’shin  _ knew that, knew he wouldn’t leave unless he had no other options. So  _ Buir’shin  _ made him choose. He made him choose  _ us. _ ” A deep, furious breath, stretched across a chasm of grief. “That day,  _ Buir  _ didn’t run away or abandon anyone. He was driven off, by  _ Buir’shin _ ’s love and his love for us. So don’t you ever think my father a coward, Din Djarin. Don’t you fucking  _ dare. _ ”

She was breathing hard, shoulders shaking with the effort of not crumbling, and Din could see it all of a sudden: the little girl inside who had hurt for so long, who still had nightmares sometimes about darkness and death, who wanted only to be protected but had to hide that want under thick armor and brittle smiles because that was what was expected. That was what it meant to be a survivor. And Din, feeling his very heart breaking in his chest, reached forward without hesitation to grasp the back of Jied’s neck, hauling her in to press their helms together. “I don’t,” he whispered, fierce, as she made a broken little noise. “ _ I won’t ever. _ ”

And he meant it. He hadn’t believed Kolyk’s lies before, and he wasn’t about to start now. Paz’s brother-in-law had been wrong on all accounts. Paz was no sinner. Not when he held so much love in his heart.

They stood there in silence for what felt like forever, just breathing. Jied grasped his wrist, sniffling wetly under her helm, and Din sighed, stepping back to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Take care of the young ones,” he said, nodding at Avi and Lyrr who watched them with big, wet eyes, “and let me look after your father.”

Jied swallowed and nodded, turning back toward the table. Din stepped up to the door, took a deep breath, and slid it open.

The room beyond was much like his own: a double rack in the corner, a wash station opposite, and a curved window in the wall between, flooding the space with bright, cheerful daylight. The armored figure seated in front of the window didn’t turn upon his entrance.

Paz had indeed been by the infirmary, shoulder wrapped tightly in white compression tape. He sat perfectly still as Din approached, didn’t move or say anything as he sank down across from him. If they hadn’t just got done having the shittiest day in the history of the universe, Din might have thought him asleep.

The silence stretched out, heavy and awkward. Din watched Paz and fought the urge to fidget. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been uncomfortable around the older Mandalorian; maybe back on Nevarro, during that scuffle over the Imperial beskar. It seemed so long ago, now.

How far they’d come since then. How much Din had learned about Paz Vizsla, how many little glimpses of the other man he’d managed to catch over the last five months and tucked away in his heart like shining treasures. How he read poetry to Lyrr and Avi every night, even though he didn’t always know all the words. How he actually had a beautiful singing voice, which only came out when he was completely roaring drunk. How he was a brilliant tactician but sucked at  _ cu’bikad _ , could snipe an Imp at five hundred yards but could never seem to find his magnifier. 

How he loved their people, fiercely and without end, and loved his children even more.

How one day, Din was slowly realizing, he hoped he, too, could be an object of that affection.

In front of him, Paz slowly lifted his helm a half-inch. “You’re not leaving, are you,” he grunted.

“No.” And Din meant it. Whatever Paz would give him, whatever Paz  _ needed _ , he was here to stay. 

The older Mandalorian sighed then, a long, tired breath that washed out of him like a wave. It was the sound of someone done, someone ready to walk away from the world and never turn back. “I would’ve done it, you know,” he murmured. “If Jied hadn’t been there, if she hadn’t had to see...I would’ve let Kolyk kill me.”

Din breathed through the rush of anger and despair. “I would’ve stopped you.”

“You would’ve failed.”

“I already succeeded, remember? My backplate agrees.”

That startled a low laugh out of Paz and he shook his head. “Stubborn as always.”

“I have a good role model.” Din’s smile faded and he leaned forward. “Paz. You don’t honestly...you don’t really blame yourself for what happened to your husband, do you? Jied told me how it really went down, and it couldn’t have gone any other way. You know that, right?”

Paz looked away; Din could imagine a wince under that ash-streaked helm. “I don’t...blame myself,” he said, quiet. “It took twenty years, but I’ve made peace with the fact that I didn’t have a choice back then. Kian—” He stuttered over his dead husband’s name. “Kian made the decision for me. And I’ll always hate him a little for it.”

He paused for a shaky breath. “But the  _ way _ he died, Din...what Kolyk said. It’s just so... _ awful _ , undeserved for any Mandalorian, but especially someone as bright and kind as him. And I just...I think about him in that tunnel, with the Imps coming from one direction and his brother behind him,  _ reaching _ , and. Just.” He looked down at his hands, lost. “Sometimes you miss someone so much it scrapes everything out from inside you. You can’t think, you can’t move, you can’t fucking  _ breathe _ , and. Fuck. I fucking  _ want my husband _ , Din.”

There was so much in his voice, pain and hurt and an awful soul-searing grief, and it was all Din could manage not to haul Paz in right then and there, to hold him close and anchor him down and keep out the world for a while. But even as every cell in his body ached to reach out, he knew he hadn’t earned that right, not yet. All he could do was straighten up, take a deep breath, and say, “Tell me.”

Paz lifted his head, bewildered. Din, however, just tilted his helm in the direction of the forge, where they could still barely make out the sounds of celebration. “We remember them through telling,” he reminded Paz gently. “So tell me about Kian.”

For a moment, it seemed Paz wouldn’t go for it. He drew his shoulders up, entire body going tense, and Din braced for it: the anger, the fists. But they never came. Instead, Paz turned slowly to gaze out the window, and as the sunlight slanted in, washing everything in warm golden light, he began, very slowly, to speak.

“We met on an exercise,” he murmured. “Wilderness survival in the Whitecap Mountains. I was the squad leader, and I was so fucking pissed about having to babysit these skinny little bookworms, but then that night over the campfire they started this, I dunno, poetry competition or whatever, and Kian rose and began reciting and I just...I couldn’t take my eyes off him...”

Din nodded, letting Paz’s words wash over him. He still didn’t know where he stood with the other man, but neither was that important right now. What was important was being here, bearing witness to a love he hadn’t been part of but honored nonetheless. Paz trusted him enough to give him this, this deepest and most vulnerable part of himself, so Din would hold it, and cherish it, and return it with care when Paz was ready.

This was the Way. 

And it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Regarding translations:** All my works, including this one, can be translated without first asking my express permission. I ask only that you credit me as the original author and provide a link back to the original work. For anything other than translations, please ask first. Thanks.


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